


Why Thalmor Hate Diplomatic Immunity

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Series: Ysraneth's Tale [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Cannibalism, Diplomacy, F/F, Green Pact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ysraneth, half-Bosmer Nord, relates an old story to Elenwen. Elenwen is not amused but can't do anything because of diplomatic immunity. Later on, she gives Ulfric Stormcloak some advice. He might actually listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Thalmor Hate Diplomatic Immunity

“Did you hear the story about the Thalmor who walked into a Bosmer feast?”

            Elenwen, Ambassador to the wretched land of Skyrim, paused as a boisterous female voice hailed from the corner where three Jarls – Balgruuf the Greater, Elisif the Fair and Siddgeir – were clustered around the living insult to Thalmor standards of purity and perfection who was reputedly Dragonborn. Ysraneth (her very name an abomination) was a Bosmer lengthened by a foot, her broad shoulders testament to the powerful dragonbone bow she supposedly wielded, defiantly wearing the traditional war-paint of the Valenwood clans despite being a Nord by race. Rumour had it she was bedding Balgruuf’s bastard niece Lydia, a dark-haired woman with the statuesque beauty of the Nords who had once decapitated a dragon with a swing of the dragonbone broadsword she used. Apparently the Dragonborn was also a skilled fashioner of arms and armour. It was regretful her family were all dead or Elenwen would have used them to make her serve the Dominion as she should.

            “No, we haven’t,” the Altmer observed silkily as she came up to the group. “Please, continue.”

            Ysraneth’s smile was… unsettling. Elenwen had participated in the purges of Valenwood, which the primitive Bosmer didn’t realise were meant to better them as a race of mer, and recalled the vicious guerrilla campaigns that lasted a full fifty years. Even now the Bosmer were sullenly resistant to the point of the Aldmeri leaders wondering if the Blades were organising a resistance.

            “Well, the Bosmer thanked him very kindly for arriving and invited him to dinner. When the Thalmor Justicar sat down and looked at them, he realised they were ragged and thin. As the Altmer do when amongst the lesser peoples, he asked the Bosmer how they’d managed to get into that state. The elder of the clan looked back at the Justicar and said very quietly, ‘All of our food was killed. We were deciding which of our number should lay down their lives for the good of the clan’.”

            Elenwen met the halfbreed’s eyes, unsettled by the verdant green hue of a Bosmer peering out from the small round orbs of a human. “If they were sensible and abandoned their barbarian ways, they wouldn’t have had such a problem,” she pointed out sardonically.

            “Funny enough, the Justicar said something similar. The elder of the clan looked at him and pointed out that the first recorded civilisation in Tamriel was the kingdom of Valenwood. That the wood elves were the first to greet humanity as equals after the Alessian wars. That for a good several thousand years, the Bosmer had done just fine following the Green Pact of Yff’re and that under the Meat Mandate, his people were the least wasteful and most pacifistic of Tamriel’s races.”

            “The Bosmer were once Aldmer,” Elenwen reminded her, uneasy about the direction of this conversation. “We saved them in the Interregnum and again during the Oblivion Crisis.”

            “Isn’t that funny? The Justicar made the same argument and the elder reminded him that it was Queen Ayrenn who approached the Bosmer and Khajiit during the former… and that we only have the Thalmor’s word on the latter.”

            Several people shifted uncomfortably, including the Jarls and the Bosmer servants. If Ysraneth thought she was making a point with all of this, Elenwen would be forced to disabuse her of the notion quickly. Opinion amongst her superiors was divided on whether stopping Alduin was a good thing; some believed he would devour the universe entire and return it to its primordial state but others believed he would regurgitate Nirn into a different form, which would be horrible to those descended from the Aedra themselves.

            “We have given your father’s people peace and prosperity unseen since the days of the Camoran Dynasty,” Elenwen responded curtly. “We only wish to share enlightenment with the rest of Tamriel. We are the best at what we do.”

            “Damn, do all you Thalmor read the same script? Because the Justicar said that too, pointing out the roads and buildings you’d built from the resources of Valenwood. Some of the Bosmer even helped you, forsaking the Green Pact for temporary comfort and stability. The elder looked at him and said, ‘Your roads killed our food, Justicar. Tell us in your superior wisdom – who amongst us should be eaten first?’”

            Ysraneth’s voice had lost its boisterousness, becoming soft and hushed. Despite her crudely Nord features, she reminded Elenwen of the Bosmer storyteller her father had hired for her tenth birthday. He died, of course, for not living up to Lord Elcarian’s standards – but for a moment, Elenwen had been lost in tales of wild things and a lush green landscape. “I guess, if I were in that situation, I would sacrifice the least productive amongst you for the good of the tribe,” she answered slowly. “It would have purged them of its imperfections.”

            “What do you know? That’s what the Justicar said. So the Bosmer raised their eyes to the canopy, thanked Yff’re and the Thalmor for their wisdom, and then promptly ate him.”

            It took Elenwen a moment to realise the moral of the so-called story as Balgruuf coughed suspiciously into his fist, Idgrod’s eyes twinkled and Siddgeir simply looked bewildered. “I will see you flayed alive!” she hissed, drawing on her magicka to summon a bound sword.

            “No, you will not,” Ysraneth replied serenely, untroubled by the magic given form in the Ambassador’s hand. “Because I haven’t broken a single damned rule of your cursed Concordat. I haven’t professed a belief in Talos, I haven’t threatened or impeded a Justicar, and as Thane of Whiterun, Morthal and Falkreath, I have something called ‘diplomatic immunity’.”

            “You’ve made fun of me!” Elenwen retorted, gesturing to the crowd. “You’ve mocked the entire Dominion!”

            “I’m not the one who’s cast Bound Sword and threatening a dinner guest with it,” Ysraneth pointed out quite reasonably. “I simply provided an alternative viewpoint. Isn’t that what diplomacy is all about?”

            “Madam Ambassador, I’m sure that Ysraneth is asserting that many different cultures can live together harmoniously if we just sit down and try to understand each other,” Elisif, the stupid little chit, assured the Altmer. “I didn’t know all those things about the Bosmer. Were we really once friends with them?”

            Ysraneth nodded, her green gaze filled with cool amusement at Elenwen’s expense. “Yeah. It was the Alessian fanatics who pretty much screwed up our friendship though.”

            “Point taken,” Balgruuf murmured, glancing at Elenwen nervously. “Ambassador, can you please banish your sword? It’s… well… unsettling.”

            With a flex of will, Elenwen returned the minor spirit to Oblivion, reminding herself that she was under orders to avoid attacking the Dragonborn unless she was a direct threat to the Dominion. Unfortunately, she wasn’t at that level… yet.

            “You are a Nord,” she observed through gritted teeth. “Who are you to lecture _me_ about the Bosmer?”

            “My mother died when I was a child and I was raised by my Bosmer father,” Ysraneth responded flatly. “I follow the Green Pact and a modified version of the Meat Mandate – I eat no Nords or Bosmer if I can absolutely help it. Thankfully, I’m a good enough huntress to not have to resort to such straits.”

            “You made a cannibal a _Thane_ and let her fuck your niece?” Elenwen demanded of Balgruuf. Much to her concern, the man met her eyes squarely, his gaze cold as the winds outside.

            “If we are being technical, a cannibal is someone who eats a member of their own race,” the Jarl of Whiterun countered coolly. “Ysraneth saved Whiterun from the dragon Mirmulnir and has slain four more who dared to come for the remains of Numinex. Even Alduin flies over Whiterun and leaves it be.”

            “She’s killed vampires and bandits galore. I hear the Companions are complaining because she’s taking so much of their work,” Idgrod added with a wicked glint in her eyes.

            “Vampires taste awful, just so you know,” Ysraneth drawled amusedly.

            “You’re enjoying this!” Elenwen hissed at her.

            “Fuck yes. I’ve watched you abuse your Bosmer servants all damn night long and can’t do a thing because of diplomatic immunity. But you also have to listen to me tell stories my daddy raised me on and can’t do a damned thing because of the same reason. Isn’t international convention a wonderful thing?”

            “One day you will misstep, Dragonborn, and I will have your head!” Elenwen hissed in Altmeris. “I will have your lovely Lydia given to atronachs, your precious Whiterun burned-“

            “One day, Elenwen, the Thalmor will be purged by your own people,” Ysraneth retorted with a sweet smile. “Because I can tell you that you are the least productive of the Altmer.”

            How the hell had she missed this… this… _freak of nature_ possessing an education equal to a bard? Elenwen knew then and there she’d have to provoke the Dragonborn into becoming a direct threat to the Dominion. “I will have every Bosmer here executed painfully,” she said aloud in Bosmeri, enjoying the flinches of the wood elves.

            “Actually, since you’re in Skyrim, churls have the right to leave their employers and find new ones,” Ysraneth pointed out. “Hey, Children of Bark – who wants to work for me?”

            Every servant in the place, from Malborn who’d just entered from the kitchen looking flustered to the serving girl getting harassed by Erikur, raised their hands.

            “Your families will die if you leave here,” Elenwen warned them.

            “My family was purged,” Malborn retorted.

            “As was mine,” added another.

            “I’m an orphan from one of the great storms in Valenwood,” the serving girl said quietly. “You can’t hurt us, Ambassador, and we’re leaving.”

            Elenwen’s eyes met those of Ysraneth, hotly promising retribution. “You will die the next time we meet without diplomatic immunity,” she promised softly.

            Ysraneth smirked. “Honey, I eat dragons for breakfast. You’re not even a threat.”

            Then she turned to the spellbound crowd and began a long, rambling story on how she discovered the best way to cook Altmer tenderloin was to marinate it in wild honey and garlic for half a day before gently cooking it into a melting softness. And because of diplomatic immunity, Elenwen had to grit her teeth and endure it.

…

“Well, shit. You just wasted a good meal there, Stormcloak.”

            The despairing scream of Elenwen was suddenly cut off with a wet smack, the echoes of Ulfric’s Shout fading from the air. The Jarl of Windhelm, called to parlay with the Imperials because of the threat of Alduin, turned to face the woman who had organised the truce with a raised eyebrow. “I had heard you were a cannibal, but I never expected it to be true.”

            “I don’t eat Nords or Bosmer unless I’m literally starving to death, tend to be the same with the other races of men, avoid Dunmer because they’re ashy  - sorry, Irileth! – and Orsimer because they never clean themselves enough. Fur and scales stick to my teeth, so rarely beastmen. But Altmer…” Ysraneth smacked her lips with relish.

            Ulfric surprised himself by laughing softly. The Dragonborn was a somewhat unexpected ally despite supporting Balgruuf’s neutrality in the civil war. “I apologise for ruining your dinner,” he managed to joke.

            “So you should be. Now I have to go hunting for more because I promised Paarthunax a meal.” The Dragonborn paused and added with genuine sincerity, “You’re welcome too.”

            “Ah, thank you but no,” Ulfric responded hastily.

            Tullius stalked out of the monastery, followed by Rikke. “Where’s Elenwen?” he demanded.

            “She discovered Altmer can’t fly,” Ysraneth told him.

            “Did you kill her?” Rikke, his old sword-sister, asked bluntly.

            “Please, would I waste a good meal Shouting her off the mountain?”

            Ulfric smiled slightly when Tullius’ furious gaze swung his way. “I pledged not to harm the Imperial forces,” he pointed out mildly. “There was nothing in there about the Thalmor.”

            Rikke hid a smile behind one hand as Tullius grunted. “I didn’t invite her,” he admitted. “But dammit, Ulfric, I thought this was one of your holy places! You don’t kill people in temples!”

            “Technically, she was halfway down the path,” Ysraneth corrected the General.

            “You should be a fucking lawyer, Dragonborn,” Tullius retorted.

            “Fuck you, General, I have morals!” Ysraneth, the cannibal, looked quite offended at being compared to a lawyer. Ulfric supposed even evil had its standards.

            He was uneasy about her open embracing of her Bosmer heritage but… well… who was he to judge a woman for following her upbringing when she would be risking her life soon?

            Balgruuf emerged from High Hrothgar with his niece and Irileth in tow. The man was clad in fine dragonscale armour with a dragonbone sword on his hip; Lydia in dragonbone plate with a massive two-handed sword across her shoulders; and even Irileth sported dragonbone weapons. The Dragonborn was generous to her patron and lover, it seemed.

            “I’ll be glad for this to be over,” Ysraneth confessed as she looked over the landscape of Skyrim. “I got a nice estate in Falkreath, between the woods and the lake. Plan to settle down with Lydia, adopt some kids, teach Elenwen’s former servants how to be Bosmer.”

            “You won’t war against the Altmer?” Ulfric thought she loathed the witch-elves. With some of the terse stories she’d shared of purges and destruction of the forests in Valenwood…

            “The Thalmor, yes. But not the Altmer.” Ysraneth sighed. “There’s a Legate in the Rift named Fasendil. He’s Altmer… and he fucking hates the Thalmor with an unholy passion. He hates what they’ve done to his people, to the Empire… Assuming that every Altmer is Thalmor’s like them assuming every Nord is a big burly skin-wearing barbarian who hates elves.”

            “But they will come back one day,” Ulfric pointed out.

            “And we’ll be ready for them. Ulfric, if you want to be smart about fighting the Thalmor, you should contact the resistances in Valenwood, Elseweyr and Summerset Isles. If you pull your head out of the mer-hating Nord assholitude for a moment, you’ll see you have more allies than you know.” The Dragonborn shrugged, her Jarl and lover talking to Tullius several feet away. “I can even give you some names.”

            “Why?” he asked. “I thought Balgruuf was loyal to the Empire. Why give me this advice?”

            “My loyalty is to Whiterun. Attack the place and I will call the storm over Windhelm until it’s nothing but a broken ruin,” Ysraneth promised softly, coldly. “But you’re attacking the wrong people, Ulfric. None of the Jarls liked the White-Gold Concordat, but humanity simply couldn’t fight anymore. I suspect that Titus Mede’s hoping we’ll outbreed the Altmer by the time they’re ready to fight again.”

            Ulfric stared at her. She was a huntress turned Dragonborn. How the hell did she manage to be so aware of politics and diplomacy?

            Ysraneth’s smile was mocking. “Your face looks similar to Elenwen’s when she realised I understood what ‘diplomatic immunity’ was,” she drawled sardonically. “For your information, Ulfric, I can speak four languages, read in three, and I’m a recognised bard at the College in Solitude. The first two were before I found out I can eat dragon souls.”

            By the Nine, the woman was better educated than him. “I didn’t mean insult,” he assured her hastily.

            “I know you didn’t. But men and mer need to talk more. Not all the elves are in cahoots with each other, and the ones who are were conquered,” she said sadly. “Talos might have been an all-conquering jackhole, but he brought people together like they hadn’t been before. You worship the former, Rikke worships the latter. But he’s the same God.”

            “Ulfric?” Galmar’s gravelly voice interrupted their conversation. “We need to make a tour of the camps and tell them we’re standing down now until Alduin is dead.”

            “Yes, yes, of course.” Ulfric looked back to the Dragonborn, nodding cordially to her. “I will… think on what you’ve said, Dragonborn.”

            “Great!” The half-mer Nord grinned cheerfully. “Come around to my place one day and I’ll treat you to Thalmor tenderloin marinated in wild honey and garlic.”

            Much to Ulfric’s surprise and vague horror, Galmar looked tempted by the offer. His huscarl had some issues from the Great War, different ones to Ulfric’s. Neither pried into the other’s inner demons. “Ah… thank you, Dragonborn. We should go. Talos guide you.”

            “And you,” she farewelled before turning back to Balgruuf and Lydia.

            For the rest of his days, Ulfric couldn’t figure out if she was the best or the worst Nord he knew. But he didn’t begrudge her desire for peace and tolerance. Not one bit. Not when he envied her that calm serenity and acceptance of her place in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Another Ysraneth one-shot. Did Delphine really expect Ysraneth to be subtle around Thalmor when there’s nothing else on the menu? Or for Ulfric not to attack Elenwen if he got a chance?


End file.
